


Badlands

by WinterSong247



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coronation, F/M, Family above all, Identity Issues, Memories, Post-War, Post-War for the Dawn, Red Keep, Star-crossed, The Eyrie (ASoIaF), Vale - Freeform, Winterfell, Young Falcon, Young Love, another life, the Lady of the Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSong247/pseuds/WinterSong247
Summary: After the war everything was bound to be different. But only as she steps foot in the throne chamber she gets the evidence of to what degree.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Alayne Stone, Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Myrcella Baratheon/Oberyn Martell, Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark
Kudos: 27





	Badlands

BADLANDS

She’s married. And she has a different last name now. And name, if she’s completely honest. But then…when was the last time she was completely honest with anyone?… Herself most of all.

They have to attend the coronation. 

She never thought she’d be back to the Red Castle again. Didn’t want to imagine it.

But there she is. In the same halls she’s frequented years ago. And to her utter surprise and perhaps dismay, she feels nothing. Nothing at all. A slight numbness maybe. 

The Castle came to a real harm during the war. The East Wing is at full destruction. The once beautiful yard in ruins…and the ghosts all around the Red Keep are flying freely. Her father’s ghost is somewhere here too.

She makes conscious steps, holding onto he husband’s hand tightly. If he recognises her too-tight grip, he doesn’t say a word. 

Her “Lord Father” backs them as they make their way to the throne chamber. His arms clasped behind his back, dark eyes investigating…always. 

Her head is held high. As high as honor. She wonders why this bitter honor seems to stalk her everywhere she goes. 

She sees the survivors. The war is written on their faces. On some faces, like Myrcella’s, who is standing next to her husband Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper and the only surviving Prince of Dorne, it’s the scars marring her once most beautiful face in all seven kingdoms. She stands gracefully next to her Dornish husband but there’s nothing in this woman left of the Sunshine girl her friend used to be. On others, it’s nothing particularly visible but looking at the Little Rose she can see the death of her brothers and the King, the one that she actually came to love, reflect in her lifeless eyes as Margaery stands with some of her cousins, all that’s left of House Tyrell. 

She sees the ones that are not there, who fell the victims of betrayal, deceit…. Her parents, Robb, Rickon, her previous husband (who showed her nothing but kindness) and his nephew (who showed her nothing but cruelty)….so many others. 

Moments later they find their place in the audience. Good place, first raw. She flinches inwardly. They are royal now. She is. She is the Lady of the Vale. A wife of the Lord of the Vale. A daughter of the Lord Protector of the Vale. Lady Alayne Hardyng. And it’s final.

As she finally masters the courage and looks at the King, she knows he can see right through. He always could with those perceptive deep dark eyes. She thinks she can see the muscle of his jaw tighten but she can’t be sure. She hasn’t seen him for so many years. But she senses that he knows who she is. Even with dark hair, the red and white colours of House Hardyng and a small mockingbird pin in her hair that shines its eyes of black onyx stones…..he knows. 

If the situation was to be different she can see him spring from the throne he’s never wanted, throw away the crown he hates and run straight into her embrace. And she would accept him.

Because, Gods help her, she has always been in love with him. When they were children she paraded the dislike for him and denial not because he was her father’s bastard but because she knew it to be so wrong to have all those unresolved feelings for him. Her young self was drowning in those consuming feelings. She didn’t know where to take those feelings and had the most unwelcome understanding that people around her might start noticing. She had no idea how they haven’t yet for sometimes she caught his eyes on her and those eyes bore a hole in her body, a hole made with fire…and she had no idea how to hide from his gaze, wherever she went, it followed. 

This was the sole reason she begged her father to take her South with him as soon as he was appointed the Hand of the King by his brother-friend Robert Baratheon. If only she knew the consequences of that request. If only she knew she’d get betrothed to the most cruel and inhuman monster her world will ever know. If only she knew he would suit up and leave for the Wall as soon as she left North. If only she knew that to run away from the capital with Lord Baelish meant to be broken mentally completely, to let go of Sansa of House Stark, the Red Wolf of Winterfell…and become someone utterly different. 

She did things to survive. Things she’s not proud of. But self-preservation always won. In the end she succumbed and did what she had to. 

Now she’s standing in front of him, her lips parted as she takes a deep breath and lets a smallest sad smile, her eyes glazed ever so slightly. Everything is hazy, in a blur.

He is Strength. He embodies Strength. Bodily strength and the strength of the spirit. He is a Targaryen now. So…he has another last name as well. 

There’s an iron crown on his head of lavish raven-dark curls for he would never wear gold. 

He watches her, solemn and brooding, because that’s how Jon is. He has changed so much, he’s a man grown now, a warrior seasoned with steel and fire. His hair grown longer and now he wears it in a small bun behind his head. He’s got beard now. That makes her laugh, she’d never imagined him with beard. But he’s still quiet, and solemn, and brooding. And that is like honey to her breaking heart. 

She thinks that the reason she’s still in love with this man (and she can admit it to herself even though the Young Falcon is standing right there to her left, the father of her child is holding her hand) is because there has never been any resolution to them, to her and Jon. All those years when she thought she’d never see him again as he left for Night’s Watch, all these years he must have considered her dead as almost everyone else. All that they had was bottling up this awareness of each other, that pain and feels. 

And then all of a sudden he wasn’t her bastard half-brother any more. He was Jon Targaryen, born Aegon. A son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. 

And she wasn’t Sansa Stark anymore but Alayne.

And like when they were children they couldn’t….again. 

As he finally everts his eyes she believes that maybe the universe sends then a very clear one-dimensional message: they are not meant to be.

And if they are not then no amount of love, courage, or survival skills will ever bring them together.

Or maybe their time has come and gone longest ago and they just couldn’t grasp it. Back when she was a stupid girl who never learns and he a Snow of Winterfell. Maybe each of them should have been braver there, on the grounds of snow-covered Winterfell. He should have taken her hand, she should have smiled at him rather than hide her eyes, they should have kissed. She sometimes dreams about it at night, very rarely though. 

The official part is over, the feast as well. She dances only twice, both times with her husband. The King doesn’t dance at all. She’s not surprised. 

And then they are back on the road, having left Petyr to negotiate. What exactly she doesn’t know, nor does she care. 

Truthfully she misses her home, her new home. She misses the highs of Eyrie, the Mountains of the Moon….the fresh smell trees…the constant wind…it is too hot for her in the South…she’s learned it the hard way. She misses her son Rick…Rickard. He is named after her grandfather though no-one but Littlefinger knows that piece of the information. She misses being the head of the sky castle household. 

“Are you alright?” She hears Harry ask carefully as their horses follow the path to the border with the Riverrun. “You’ve been somewhere else these past few days.”

He knows not to press her for answers.

“I am.” She just nods but gives him a sincere smile. “I will be as soon as we’re home.”

He produces a wide smile of his own and his soft blonde hair falls on his eyes. That makes her shake her head and smile to herself. 

Yes, she’s married now.

And she has a different last name now.

And name.


End file.
